


when the clouds catch fire

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: Face goes undercover in a biker gang.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I usually only post a story when it's completed, but with this one I decided to post in instalments - mainly because I find plotting kind of hard, so I thought it might be less daunting if I just posted chapters as I wrote them. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step" and all that. So thanks for reading. I'd love to know what you think.

**Face**

“A buzzcut, okay Murdock?” Face said, arranging the towel to better cover his shoulders. “Just a simple, straightforward buzzcut.”

“Aw, Facey, can't I do you a mohawk like BA? They're all the rage now. It's the hairstyle that's sweeping the nation. I'd get one myself except I don't think my Captain Bellybuster hat would fit over it. Too much height.” He revved the clippers and beamed at Face with a mega-watt smile. “Come on Faceman, whaddya say?”

Face looked at Hannibal imploringly. Hannibal straightened from where he'd been leaning against the van and removed his cigar.

"Murdock, you can't give Face a mohawk because Wyatt didn't have a mohawk. If Face shows up at the biker hangout with a mohawk they'll get suspicious.”

Murdock sighed theatrically. “He's passing up a once in a lifetime opportunity. A mohawk could've been the best thing to ever happen to his hair and instead you're robbing it of its potential for greatness.”

“I'll live,” Face said, patting his arm.

“Nice and short, Captain,” Hannibal said, biting down on his cigar again. “Like it was back in 'Nam.”

Face readied himself as Murdock switched on the clippers. He waited...and waited.

“Ah, Murdock?”

“Ssshh. I'm saying a eulogy for your hair.”

BA scowled over where he was working on the motorbike. “Quit messing around fool and get on with it.”

Murdock's lips moved silently and then he crossed himself and opened his eyes. “Okay. I'm ready.”

BA shook his head in disapproval before turning back to the bike.

Face held himself still as the portable razor did its job, the gentle pressure of Murdock's warm hand moving his head this way and that, and he tried to quell his rising trepidation. It wasn't that he was nervous about Murdock cutting his hair; he knew Hannibal was watching and wouldn't let Murdock do anything crazy. Besides, when Murdock had first heard the plan, he'd been desperate to be the one to cut Face's hair, had been riffing on Sweeney Todd for days, and Face couldn't deny him that.

No, the trepidation was because he was wondering if, just this time, he was out of his depth.

The plan was for him to infiltrate a notorious biker gang that was tearing up this part of the coast, dealing in weapons and snatching up women. Women like Wyatt's sister. The team had been laying the groundwork for weeks, and all that was needed now was for him to step into the cover of Wyatt. He'd left off shaving for a few days and the stubble felt prickly and strange. The haircut would complete the picture.

A warm breeze started up. He closed his eyes and took an unsteady breath, inhaling the saltiness. 

“Oh no no no," he heard Murdock cry and he opened his eyes. The pilot had dropped down on all fours and was scavenging in the dust.

“What's up, Captain?” Hannibal said.

“The wind's blowing away all of Face's hair. I was gonna collect it and put it in a box, give it a nice little funeral.”

Face exchanged glances with Hannibal. He knew this was Murdock's way of showing that he cared about Face, that he too was feeling anxious about what was going to happen.

“Murdock, I mean it,” came BA's voice behind him.

“Relax, Murdock,” Face said, “you only need a couple of strands to represent the whole. It's synecdoche.”

“Exactly,” said Hannibal, smiling. “Synecdoche.”

“You fools are all crazy,” BA muttered.

* * *

 

When Murdock was finally done with the clippers he whipped the towel off Face as if performing the reveal of a magic trick.

“Voila!”

Face stood up, brushing himself down as he did so. Hannibal came over and looked at him appraisingly.

“Nice job, Murdock. You could be a professional hairdresser.”

“Nah, I'm not cut out to be a hair murderer. My soul's too sensitive.”

Face took the jacket from Hannibal. It was Wyatt's jacket, the leather soft and worn and smelling faintly of smoke. He put it on, along with the sunglasses. 

“Well? How do I look?”

Hannibal nodded approvingly. Murdock was shaking his head though.

“I don't know, Face. You look mean. Real mean.”

“That's the idea,” Hannibal said.

“Face,” barked BA, “get over here.”

He left Murdock gathering up the tufts of hair and went over to where BA was doing up the bike.

“Say, BA, that's a real nice bike. Where'd you get it?”

“My cousin,” BA said, “and he wants it back, so you better take real good care of it.”

“Sure BA, Scout's honour.” He held up his left hand.

BA frowned at him. “You ain't no Boy Scout. You ever ride one of these things?”

He shrugged. “My buddy had a BMW back when we were kids. He let me ride it sometimes.”

“Look sucker, riding a Harley's a world away from those toy bikes. It's heavy and the exhaust pipe's lower to the ground. So watch out when you're turning 'cause it'll flip the bike something nasty if you catch it.” 

The next couple of hours Face forgot about his apprehension as BA gave him the low-down on the Harley. When he was finally allowed to take it for a spin he found his muscles hurting in places he never even knew he had muscles, but it was a good hurt, and it worked off some of the adrenaline.

After the test drive he parked the bike up and switched off the engine. “Thanks BA.”

BA was cleaning his hands with a rag, and as he approached Face his expression was uncharacteristically thoughtful. 

“What?” said Face.

“Look man," BA said in a low voice, "if things start to go bad, just call. We'll come get you, okay?”

Face pasted on a smile. “Why, BA, I didn't know you cared.”

“I'm serious man,” BA said, still worrying the rag. “I know how these things can go. I've had some run-ins with gangs in my time. Don't do nothing stupid.”

He felt a chill run down him. He wanted to make some breezy comeback but something in BA's face stopped him.

“What about Suzi?" he said, looking down. "I'm her only chance - "

"You can't be thinking like that, man. If it starts heating up and you need extracting then Hannibal will think up some other plan.”

“Face,” Hannibal called then.

“Speak of the devil,” Face said lightly.

“Remember man,” BA said, stepping back.

He was grateful for BA's protectiveness, but he knew no matter what happened that he had to see this job through. He kept hearing Wyatt's voice in his head, the way he'd said, “She's the only family I got”, the desperation. It stirred up something in him and he knew he wouldn't be able to put it to rest until they found her.

“All set, Lieutenant?” Hannibal said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“If I say no, will it make any difference?”

Hannibal laughed. “You'll do fine, kid. Now let's get you bugged and wired.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Face**

“So what was BA saying to you?” Hannibal asked as they climbed into the back of the van.

“Oh, you know, the usual. If I break his bike he'll break me.”

“Anything else?”

He didn't have a line ready fast enough and Hannibal seized on it.

"Come on Face, you can't play a player. Spill it. What did BA say to you?”

Face shifted in his seat. “Weren't we meant to be looking at the electronics?”

 _“Face,”_ and when Hannibal said his name like that, Face knew it was game over.

“All right,” he said, a little exasperated. “He told me not to do anything stupid, and if I wanted out then you guys would come get me. But I'll be fine,” he added, “it's not like I haven't gone undercover before. We do it all the time.”

“Yeah, but the stakes aren't usually this personal.”

“Personal? I don't even know her."

“I'm not talking about the girl, I'm talking about you.”

Suddenly the inside of the van felt a lot smaller. He wanted to jump out and go join Murdock at the hair funeral, and as if sensing that, Hannibal put his arm across the door.

“Hannibal - ”

“Let me explain,” Hannibal continued calmly. “Take BA; you know how he gets when there's kids involved. Or me; the bigger the odds, the greater the jazz.” He gave Face a winning smile, and Face returned it with a grimace. "We all have our tipping points, the thing that makes us move a little faster, fight a little dirtier - ”

“That's nice; you get that from one of Murdock's psychology textbooks?” He knew he was being a brat, trying to distract Hannibal, but Hannibal didn't rise to the bait.

“- and yours,” Hannibal said, punctuating his point by jabbing his cigar in Face's direction, “is families. You'd do anything to keep them together.”

He was stricken, and he guessed it showed because Hannibal's expression softened. “Look kid, I'm not saying that's a bad thing, I just don't want you taking unnecessary risks when you haven't got us there to back you up.”

“I won't; Scout's honour.” He held up his left hand.

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. “Don't Scouts take the oath with their right hand?”

Seems like no one was buying that line today.

“Promise me. No unnecessary risks.”

He held Hannibal's gaze steadily. “I promise.”

Hannibal scrutinised him for a moment, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. He turned away to get the recording gear and Face let out the breath he'd been holding.

No unnecessary risks.

Hannibal hadn't said anything about necessary ones.


	3. Chapter 3

**Murdock**

It had been four days since Face had roared off into the sunset, and Murdock hadn't liked it, not one bit. He remembered how Face had gone into character, how he'd put those reflective shades on, lowered his voice, made his movements slower, more languid. And his expression; like he owned the world and everything in it and didn't even care.

Murdock could tell Hannibal and BA were impressed, but then again, they seldom saw the Faceman in action. Murdock on the other hand saw Face in different guises all the time; they were always goofing off together, playing off each other, both out on a con and in the VA. This time it felt different though. Like Face wasn't playing anymore.

Murdock couldn't stand Face leaving like this, couldn't stand _not-Face_ being the last thing he saw, and so when Face climbed on the bike Murdock came up close and removed the sunglasses, revealing Face's concerned eyes.

"Murdock?"

“I don't want to remember you like this." He was glad BA and Hannibal had returned to the van; when they were around, Face had the tendency to get embarrassed and protest and push Murdock away like he had something to prove, but when it was just the two of them Face was completely himself, and he let Murdock be himself too.

“I'll be okay, Murdock,” Face said gently, reassuring him.

Murdock nodded and then he ran his hand over Face's newly-cropped hair, stroking it, feeling it bristle under his fingers. “Do you think it'll ever grow back?”

“I'm sure it will."

“Come on fool,” BA shouted, “quit messing around and let the man go.”

He put the sunglasses carefully back over Face's eyes and turned away, wanting to avoid seeing _not-Face_ again. He heard Face revving the bike, and then on impulse he hugged Face from behind. He felt the breath woosh out of Face as he gripped him hard, wanting to imprint him with love and warmth and all those good vibes. It was the same reason why Hannibal was always putting his arm around Face, why BA would grip Face's collar sometimes when he was pretending to be mad; they all found excuses to touch Face, to reassure him that he was loved and valued and cared for. The fact that Face let them touch him as much as they did spoke volumes. Of course, Murdock had always been more demonstrative than most.

He pressed his face into Face's back and he heard Face croak, "Thanks buddy" and he gave Face a final squeeze before letting him go.

* * *

Since then Face had checked in every day but there was something about this last report that set Murdock's Spidey sense tingling.

He, BA and Hannibal were sitting round the radio equipment in the van. They'd just listened to Face's latest transmission. Face had sounded gleeful, delighted even at finally making contact with Wyatt's sister; he'd always been a smooth talker but tonight he'd rattled away faster than an M16 on steroids.

“Did the Faceman sound off to you guys?” Murdock said as BA packed the radio away.

Hannibal was puffing on his cigar, looking serious.

“I don't like it, Hannibal,” BA said, clenching his fist. “Sounds like he's on something.”

Murdock felt his skin start to crawl. He hadn't had any experience with those kind of drugs. The ones the docs favoured at the VA made everything sad and slow, like the world had been dialled down a notch.

“He could just be real excited he found Suzi,” he said. “This job really meant a lot to him.”

“It did, didn't it.” Hannibal took a long, considering draw of his cigar and exhaled slowly. BA wrinkled his nose but for once didn't say anything.

“And Wyatt didn't mention any drugs when we talked to him,” Murdock added.

“Times change,” said BA. “It's been years since Wyatt was part of the gang.”

“What do you think, Colonel?” Murdock said, wanting to hear Hannibal's cool, reasoned reassurance.

Hannibal's eyes flicked to his. “Oh, he was definitely on something." Murdock's stomach plummeted. "The question is, do we let him complete the mission or do we go in and pull the plug?”

Murdock shook his head firmly. “You can't pull the plug. Whatever Faceman's doing, he got his reasons, we gotta trust him.”

“You don't know that, sucker,” BA said. “That stuff can really mess up a guy's head. I seen it before. We need to get him out, Hannibal.”

"But if we -" Murdock began, and Hannibal held up a gloved hand to forestall any more protests.

“Cool it, guys. Here's what we'll do. Face said he was going to put the tracking pin on Suzi tomorrow. So we'll pull her out and we'll get him out too - ”

“Sounds good to me, Colonel,” Murdock said, giving him two relieved thumbs up, but Hannibal kept talking over him -

“And once we've got him I'm going to bust his ass down to Private.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Hannibal**

The dead of night, a robust defence system and an extraction that would have gone perfectly if it hadn't been for a certain lieutenant who was high and the initial refusal of the girl to go with them.

 They dove into the van just as the gunfire started.

 “Go, BA,” Hannibal said, slamming the door behind them.

 “I slashed their tyres, Colonel,” Murdock shouted from the front, “ain't no way they're following us unless they sprout wings.”

 BA wrenched the van round the corner of the warehouse and instinctively Hannibal put his arm out to steady the girl.

 Face was laughing. “Oh boy, I sure wish I could see their faces right around now -”

 “Can it, Lieutenant," Hannibal snapped. There was still a chance the bullets could take out their tyres or hit their fuel tank, and in this remote place there was nowhere to hide.

 More gunfire lighting up the black, and then suddenly they were clear.

 “Where to, Hannibal?” BA said.

 “Head north; there's a hospital - ” but the girl pulled away from him, shaking her head.

 “No, take me home.”

 In the dimness Hannibal couldn't make out if she was hurt or not. “Suzi - ”

 “It can wait,” she said, anticipating his question. “I just want to see my brother.”

 She seemed sensible enough to know what she was asking for, and so Hannibal said, “You heard the lady, BA.”

 “I still say we should have used the grenades, Hannibal,” Face said, his voice too loud in the small confines of the van. “We could've taken out their whole stockpile back there."

 “It was too risky,” Hannibal said, striving for patience. They'd already gone over this in the warehouse, wasting unnecessary seconds. “There were too many civilians unaccounted for - ”

 “That's never stopped us before,” Face said. “Right, Murdock? BA?”

 BA shook his head, but Murdock twisted round reluctantly in his seat. “The Faceman's kind of got a point, Colonel. It doesn't feel right to let those guys get away with it.”

 “Which is why we're going to send the recordings Face made of their conversations to Amy. She'll blow their whole operation wide open. Local law enforcement won't be able to turn a blind eye any more.” He looked pointedly at Face. “You _have_ got the tapes, haven't you, Lieutenant?”

 Face patted the slight bulge in his jacket. “All here, five nights worth of pure gold. It's gonna sink them like a stone. And boy, how I wish I was there to see it.” He started laughing again, and Hannibal saw the girl flinch at the sound.

 “What were you taking, Lieutenant?” he said softly.

 “What?”

 Out the corner of his eye he saw Murdock and BA tense. “You heard me.”

 Face didn't answer immediately, and Suzi spoke up. “He's on coke. They all are.” Hannibal nodded; it confirmed his suspicions.

“Were you injecting?”

 Face shifted in his seat. “Hannibal - ”

 “Were you injecting?”

 “No."

Hannibal paused for a moment to make sure his voice was under control. “When it gets light I want you to show me your arms.”

 He couldn't make out Face's expression, but the anger radiating through his body language was easy enough to read.

* * *

It was dawn when they pulled up at Wyatt's plot of land. None of them had slept. BA had been driving, Murdock kept sneaking glances at Face when he thought the other man wasn't looking, and Face had been restless this past hour or so, rubbing his palms on his lap. As for the girl, Hannibal had draped a blanket over her and she'd curled up on the back seat, but every time he'd looked round to check on her, her eyes had been open, watchful.

 As soon as BA stopped the van, Face pulled the door open and was out like a shot. Murdock followed him.

 Hannibal turned to the girl. “You know you can't stay here,” he said. “Those guys'll be looking for you and your brother.”

“I figured as much."

“My advice is to get as far away from here as possible, and don't come back until you hear they're behind bars.”

“Is that really going to happen?”

“I'll make it happen.” He held her gaze. “Trust me.”

He helped her out of the van. Murdock was leaning against a nearby tree trunk whilst Face paced back and forth smoking a cigarette, sunglasses on even though it was barely light.

“Murdock, you and Face stay out here. Keep an eye out for any activity. BA and I'll take Suzi inside.”

“Sure thing, Colonel,” Murdock said, sketching a salute.

The girl spoke to Face then - “thanks for coming to get me," - but there was a wariness in the way she addressed him.

“Ah, Face?” Hannibal said. “Wyatt's jacket?”

Face took his cigarette out and placed it between Murdock's lips, patting Murdock lightly on the cheek as he did so. "Hold that for me, would you?" He shrugged the jacket off and emptied it of its contents. Meanwhile Murdock removed the cigarette slowly, looking at Hannibal.

When Face handed over the jacket Hannibal grasped Face's wrists at the same time. He felt Face tense as he unapologetically examined the inside of his arms. No tracks.

"Happy now?" said Face.

But Hannibal didn't let go. He'd purposefully not worn his gloves, and he took in the clammy slickness of Face's skin, his warmth despite the coolness of the morning, the too-fast thrumming of his pulse. The shades prevented Hannibal from giving him eye contact, but that didn't matter. He increased his pressure on Face's wrists. "When all this is over, you and I are going to have a long talk."

Face was quiet as he released him. As Hannibal turned towards the house he exchanged glances with Murdock, an unspoken message which Murdock acknowledged with a slight dip of his head.

_Watch him._

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Murdock**

“Can you believe Hannibal?” Face said after the others had left.

Murdock shrugged. "That guy Wyatt's pretty fragile," he said, keeping his posture as relaxed as possible, hands in his pockets; a stark contrast to Face who had reclaimed his cigarette and started pacing again. “Seeing you dressed up like that might not be so good for his mental state.”

“Well now, Murdock, you'd know all about mental states, wouldn't you?"

He looked down and scuffed at the dirt with his shoe.

“Look, I'm sorry,” he heard Face say. “I'm just a little on edge, you know?”

“Yeah I know.” He wanted to put his hands on Face's shoulders, anchor him in place, but Face was too wired for that right now. “What was it like back there?”

Face shrugged. “Once they thought I was Wyatt, it was a piece of cake. It was getting them to believe I was him that was the hard part.” He smiled then. “Seems like Wyatt forgot to tell us about his little drug habit.”

“Why, that son of a -” Murdock hadn't even realised he'd taken a step towards the house before he felt Face's hand on his shoulder.

“Relax,” Face said, “I managed to avoid the hard stuff, but I had to take something to gain their trust. And it worked in my favour; those guys were so out of it most nights they didn't know what they were saying.”

Murdock shook his head. “Hannibal's gonna be livid. I sure wouldn't like to be in Wyatt's shoes right now.”

“Hannibal...” Face's expression changed then into something ugly and bitter. “You should've heard the way he lit into me back at the warehouse.”

“He was just worried about you, Faceman.”

“Right.” Face helped himself to another cigarette, and Murdock noticed his hands shaking as he fumbled with the lighter. “I'll tell you what it's really about. He's ticked because I handled this whole thing myself. I didn't go running to him for help like he wanted me to, and you know Hannibal - he can't bear it if he's not the one calling the shots."

This wasn't Face, Murdock had to remind himself. This was _not_ - _Face_ still, coming down off a high and hurting and wanting everyone else to hurt along with him.

“Suzi seemed nice,” he blurted out, more to divert his friend's thoughts than anything.

Face laughed humourlessly. “Oh yeah, she was just swell. I had a hell of a time getting _her_ to trust me.”

“The Faceman losing his touch?”

Face jabbed his cigarette at him. “You try convincing a girl to run away with you in the middle of the night when you're stoned out of your gourd."

Murdock winced. No wonder Suzi had been acting so edgy round him.

Face scratched at his bare arms then. He looked small and thin without his jacket, and Murdock felt a surge of compassion for him. “I'm glad you're all right, Face," he said.

Those simple words seemed to soothe Face some, though he kept moving still, crackling with energy. They waited together until Hannibal and BA returned, and then Murdock pushed himself away from the tree, relieved, though he couldn't articulate why. 

“Right," Hannibal said, "now that that's all taken care of, what do you guys say to some breakfast?”

“Yeah,” BA said, “I'm starving.”

Wordlessly, Face stubbed out his cigarette and headed to the van. 

Murdock covered over the moment as best he could. “I saw a quaint little diner 'bout five miles back,” he said, climbing into the back with Face, “the sign said you could milk your own cow.”

“Hey, I ain't milkin' no cow,” said BA.

“Why, BA,” he said in his best upper crust accent, "that's rather an elitist attitude now, isn't it?"

“Sorry Murdock," Hannibal said, turning round to look at him, "but I'd prefer to go somewhere further away, just in case those slimeballs pick up our trail.”

“Right you are, Colonel.” He stifled a yawn, suddenly feeling the effects of the sleepless night. He pulled his legs up and settled himself against the door. Covertly he looked at Face; the other man was playing with the lighter, flicking it on and off. Murdock stretched out and nudged him with his foot. When Face glanced over, Murdock blew him a kiss, and was gratified to receive a small smile in return.

* * *

He was woken by Hannibal saying his name. “Murdock, we're nearly there. Wake Face, would you?”

Murdock scrubbed a hand over his eyes and checked his watch; he'd been out for less than an hour. He unfurled his legs and looked over at Face. Even though the other man was still wearing his shades, his chin was drooping onto his chest.

Slowly, slowly, Murdock reached over and removed the shades, revealing Face, asleep. In the light he could see Face clearly now, his unhealthy paper pallor, the shadows under his eyes. He slid the sunglasses into his jacket, bid _not_ - _Face_ a goodbye, and then patted Face's cheek gently. “Wakey wakey Facey.”

Face stirred and then suddenly came to all at once, his leg kicking out and hitting the back of Hannibal's chair, his arm coming up to thrust Murdock away. “What - ”

“Hey, easy there, easy,” Murdock said, holding his hands out, "we're nearly there, is all.”

Face seemed disorientated for a moment, trying to look everywhere at once.

“How are you feeling, Lieutenant?” Hannibal said from the front.

“Can I have a minute before you guys start giving me the third degree?” He leaned forward, his head in his hands, muttering to himself.

“We're here, Hannibal,” BA said, turning into the parking lot.

“ _Mama's Greasy Spoon_ ,” Murdock read out. “ ' _It_ _ain't healthy, but it sure_ _tastes_   _good_.' Hey BA, this place sounds right up your street.”

“Can we not talk about grease?” Face groaned.

“Pull up round the back, BA,” Hannibal said.

They all got out except Face. “I think I'm just gonna stay in the van,” Face said, hunched over with his eyes closed.

“Not an option, Lieutenant; I need you shaved and wearing a fresh set of clothes. I don't want anything linking you to that gang.”

Face shot Hannibal a dirty look, but either Hannibal didn't notice it or chose not to see it.

“Come on, Facey,” Murdock said, tugging at him lightly, “I'll give you a hand.”

“BA and I will go order," Hannibal said, and he put his arm around BA. “Cheer up Sergeant, I'm sure we can find something on the menu that's not made of grease."

“I wouldn't count on it, Hannibal,” BA scowled.

Murdock turned back to Face. “Come on Faceman,” he said again when Face was showing every sign of going back to sleep, “You'll feel much better once you've got some nice clean clothes on you, some food in your belly, some air in your lungs, a spring in your step - ”

Under protest, Face let himself be led out of the van. He stood there squinting in the bright light, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, whilst Murdock rifled through the box of spare clothes they kept in the back. “You seen my shades anywhere?”

"No," Murdock replied innocently, "maybe you lost them while you were sleeping. Now, what would the gentleman prefer? Something in flannel, perhaps? I hear the lumberjack look is very _in_ at the moment.”

“Murdock -”

“Or something in denim?” he continued, holding up a pair of BA's dungarees.

“I'll look myself,” Face said. He reached down and nearly overbalanced.

"Whoa Nelly," Murdock said, instinctively going to steady him, "you okay there, muchacho?" 

"I'm fine," Face said, pulling away, "stop crowding me, would you? You're worse than Hannibal." The heat behind his words made Murdock take a step back, and he didn't say anything else whilst Face picked through the clothes and set off in the direction of the restrooms, leaving him to close up the van.


	6. Chapter 6

**BA**

The coffee was scalding hot and so BA just held the mug in his hands, staring into it. Hannibal sat opposite him doing the same. He'd always liked that about Hannibal. The man never tried to fill a silence, unlike the other two.

He'd opted for coffee over milk 'cause he was feeling tired, dog-tired, like the weariness had sunk into his bones. He hadn't slept well all the nights Face had been gone. Never did, when the team were apart like this.

After a while he saw Face and Murdock making their way towards the booth. Murdock slid next to him with a “Shuffle up, Slim!” and BA scowled before moving up closer to the window to make room. Opposite, Face slumped down next to Hannibal. Now that Face had shaved and changed his shirt he wasn't looking like a scuzzball gang member no more, but he wasn't looking like he'd just stepped out a toothpaste commercial, neither.

“You happy now?” Face said to Hannibal.

“Ecstatic,” Hannibal said, and smiled at the waitress as she set the plates down. “Thank you, ma'am.”

BA was too hungry to fathom what was going on between them. Instead he reached for the eggs and started digging.

“Which one's mine, Colonel?” Murdock said.

“The sausages are yours,” said Hannibal, arranging the plates, “and the pancakes are for Face.”

Face raised his mug like he was toasting them. “I'll stick with coffee.”

“That's what they had too,” Murdock said, “and hamburgers, and they wrapped them meals away as if they were back in their mother's kitchen.”

BA scowled. “Who you talking about, fool?”

“Why, the farmboys from Minnesota of course. And Mississippi Gene and the blond boy.”

“Don't forget the hobos,” Hannibal said, as if Murdock was making complete sense, but BA just shook his head and kept on shovelling. Grease or no grease, it was fuel.

The fool kept up his jibber-jabber as they ate, saying stuff like “ _I walked into the least likely place in the world”_ and “ _Pass the chocolate syrup, Gene”_  which was apparently directed at Hannibal, but BA was too weary to make him hush up and so the words just rolled on over them as they ate. One time the waitress came back to refill their coffee, and BA heard Murdock say under his breath,

_"There were some pretty girls, too, and one of them made eyes at Blondey and he never saw it, and if he had he wouldn't have cared, he was so sad and gone.”_

He followed Murdock's gaze. Face was holding his mug and the waitress had her hand wrapped around his, holding the cup steady as she poured, and the fool was right - Face wasn't even aware of her.

He knew Murdock was worried, and he'd be worrying too except he knew Hannibal would sort it out one way or another. No use wasting brain energy thinking about it. Hannibal would fix it.

Moved by association, he said suddenly, “Hey man, what about my bike?”

Face looked up from his coffee. “What?”

“Don't tell me you left my bike behind back there.”

 “Unbelievable BA, I've been gone for days and all you care about is your damn bike.”

 “Faceman, you know that's not true,” Murdock said, “Slim's been real worried about you, we all have.”

“Quit calling me Slim, fool.”

“That's Sal to you.”

Face glared at them both, pressing his fingers to his temple. “BA, your bike's fine. When I knew you guys were coming for me I jammed the cam chain and stowed it in a repair shop on the interstate.”

“Good thinking,” Hannibal said, sending a warning glance at BA, his  _stand down, Sergeant_ look.

“Glad you approve,” Face muttered, but BA heard it, and from his expression so did Hannibal. And so did Murdock, because he started ramping up the jibber-jabber, all antsy and nervous-like, and it made BA want to take Face outside and shake him and shut him in the van with Hannibal until whatever it was that needed to get sorted got sorted.

Why he rolled with these guys he wondered sometimes.

But then he looked over at Face again, with his stack of pancakes uneaten in front of him even though he needed the feeding up, how the top one had a smiley face drawn on in chocolate syrup, and his heart broke for him - just a little, broke for them all, and so he stayed. He always stayed.

* * *

 

**Murdock**

“I'm doing Kerouac,” Murdock wanted to tell BA, "don't you remember that time -

That time when they'd been holed up south of Da Nang and the rains had come in a deluge so thick that the earth started moving, and Kerouac was the only book Face could lay his hands on so Murdock and Hannibal had taken turns reading it, chapter by chapter, cover to cover with the mould growing in between the pages -

And maybe it was something about their journey through the night, this truck stop, the sense of being on the brink of something that made him think of that book, of Mississippi Gene and how much like Hannibal he was,

_crossing and recrossing the country every year, south in the winter and north in the summer, and only because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars_

and if that wasn't the jazz then he didn't know what was, Mississippi Gene and Hannibal, both of them on the jazz with a blond kid in tow, _a blond kid in hobo rags, running from something, sad and quiet -_

Things got mixed up, layered over, and he knew the others thought he was fleeing reality but in truth it was the opposite, he was diving into it, diving too deep sometimes, with its swirling eddies that needed interpreting on levels the rest of the guys didn't understand no matter how hard Face tried -

Except Hannibal. Hannibal always understood. And Murdock loved him for that. And how Hannibal would – how Gene would -

 _every now and then lean out of his Buddhistic trance over the rushing dark plains and_ _say_ _something in the boy's ear. The boy nodded. Gene was taking care of him, of his moods and his fears_

But Face wasn't letting Hannibal take care of his moods and his fears right now, and Murdock didn't know why that was, and it made him feel skittish, like he needed to fly real bad - 

But there were other ways of escaping. 

Like smearing yourself in Kerouac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts from Jack Kerouac's _On the Road_ are in italics


	7. Chapter 7

**Hannibal**

He checked his watch. It was still early, but more and more customers were starting to trickle in and he didn't want to take any chances. He'd seen a gas station next to the diner, so he said, “BA, take Face and go fill up the van. We'll meet you there in five.”

Whilst Murdock scrambled to let BA out the booth, Hannibal caught the waitress's eye and motioned for the cheque. There was a reason he wanted Face to leave with BA – BA tended to attract attention, and if all eyes were on him then they wouldn't be on Face. In theory, anyway. The waitress set the bill down on her way past their table, and Hannibal saw her glance where Face had been sitting, her flash of disappointment.

He pulled out his wallet. Murdock was jiggling his knee, fidgeting almost as badly as Face had been. “Got any change on you, Captain?” Wyatt had paid them in fifties.

Murdock jammed a hand into his pocket and brought out some coins. “Let's see - I got a nickel, couple of quarters, and - ” he held a coin up to the light, “I think that's a kopek. Guess one of the guys at the VA's been cheating at poker again. My money's on Crazy Ivan.”

“You got a guy in the VA called Crazy Ivan?” Hannibal said absently, peeling off a fifty. She looked like she could use the tip. 

“Nah, we just call him that. His real name's Burt.”

* * *

 

As they left the diner, Hannibal figured that finding the kopek must have short-circuited Murdock's Kerouac riff, because there was no further mention of Mississippi Gene, the blond boy or the hobos. In any case, he'd gotten the message. Murdock, in his own, unique way, was reminding him of his responsibility towards the strung-out lieutenant who was currently doing everything in his power to keep Hannibal at arm's length.

They met BA over at the gas pump. “Where's Face?” Hannibal said.

BA jerked his head towards the shop. “Said he was out of cigarettes.”

“I'll go get him, Colonel,” Murdock said, but Hannibal put a hand on his arm.

“It's all right, Captain. I'll get him.”

He saw Murdock and BA exchange looks, BA shaking his head. He knew how they felt.

The bell jangled as he opened the shop door, but a quick scan inside showed no Face. The youth at the kiosk didn't bother looking up from his magazine.

He thought for a moment, and then rounded the corner to the back of the shop. As he'd guessed, Face was there, leaning against the wall next to the trashcans, smoking. When he saw Hannibal he groaned. “Can't I have five minutes to myself?”

“You've not had five minutes to yourself since you joined the army. Why start now?”

Face took another drag, and Hannibal started counting inwardly. _One Mississippi, two Mississippi_ … The sun was full up now, but they were in the shadow of the trees and the morning chill hadn't burned off yet. A couple of trucks roared past on the road beyond.

When he reached ten, he said, “We're all waiting for you, Face.”

Face didn't move. “I'm not ready yet.”

“Every second the van's parked out there makes us memorable. You know how I feel about being memorable.”

Face tossed the cigarette butt onto the ground and crushed it into the gravel with his boot. Hannibal turned to go - and then Face reached into his pocket and took out another cigarette.

His hands clenched into fists, and he purposefully unclenched them. “Get in that van, Lieutenant.”

“No.”

“I'm not doing this with you,” he said deliberately. “Either you get into that van by yourself or I'll have BA drag you. It's your choice.”

Face glared at him, furious, and then pushed himself away from the wall. For a second he swayed but then he righted himself and stalked past him towards the van.

Hannibal rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling very old. If they could just get Face home, fed, rested, then he knew he could deal with whatever was going on in Face's head -

But first things first. Get him home.

BA was already in the driver's seat when Hannibal approached. Murdock was stood hugging himself, waiting for them. 

Hannibal climbed into the front seat. The atmosphere in the van was tense. “Let's get out of here.”

As BA pulled out the parking lot, Hannibal rummaged around in the glove compartment for the power bar he knew was in there. He turned round and offered it to Face. “Lieutenant, I suggest you - ”

“Enough with the rank crap,” Face snapped.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I've had it with you and your orders. We're not in the army any more.”

“You want to think real careful 'bout what you're saying, Faceman,” BA said, low and dangerous, but Hannibal held up his hand.

“It's okay, BA. Let him finish.” It seemed they were doing this after all.

“We always have to do things your way," Face continued, "and I'm sick of it.”

“Faceman, don't do this,” Murdock begged.

“Why? It's not like you don't feel the same. Tell him, Murdock. Tell Hannibal how you hate being in the VA.”

Murdock shook his head, wide-eyed, darting between Hannibal and Face, “I don't -”

Face interrupted him. “He hates being in the VA and you don't even see it. He's a goddamn chopper pilot, he belongs in the sky, but he can't even _see_ the sky from his room - ”

“Hannibal, that's not true -”

“It _is_ true,” Face exploded, “look at you, he's got you so scared you can't even tell him the truth!”

“I'm not - it's not- ” Murdock stumbled, and Hannibal forced himself not to get distracted by the old, familiar guilt - 

“And what about BA?" Face continued, "it just about kills him to be away from his mom like this - ”

“Hey man, leave my mother out of this,” BA growled.

“ - he worries about her all the time - "

BA shook his head. “That's it, I'm pulling over.”

“Keep driving, Sergeant,” Hannibal said, clamping down on the wheel.

“You see!” Face said, “you've got us all so cowered by your army crap - it means everything to you, your own private platoon, 'cause you know without us you'd be nothing.”

“He doesn't mean that, Colonel,” Murdock said, sounding close to tears, “he doesn't know what he's saying.”

Face held Hannibal's gaze. “I know exactly what I'm saying.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. “Ok BA, stop the van.”

Murdock gave a low moan, but Hannibal kept holding Face's gaze as BA pulled over onto the side of the road. Hannibal got out, as did Face, followed by the others.

“All right Face, what's this really about?” he said.

Face squared up to him, breathing hard, like adrenaline was the only thing keeping him on his feet. “I'll tell you what it's about. It's about this legend you've built up around yourself -  _“I'm Hannibal Smith, my plans always come together",_ the A-Team, fighting injustice -  but here's the real kicker- we're the biggest injustice of them all and you can't do a damn thing about it!"

BA stepped forward but Hannibal waved him back. “Is that why you didn't tell me your plan back there?" he said in a flash of insight, "you didn't think I'd come up with an alternative?”

“Why would you?" Face threw up his hands, "you can't even get us our pardons, why should I trust you to do anything?”

“Lieutenant - ” and as soon as that word left his mouth he knew he'd made a mistake.

“Stop calling me that!” Face shouted and launched himself at him.

He caught the momentum and they both landed hard in the dust. Murdock was yelling, BA holding him back but Hannibal couldn't spare them any attention. Face went to jump him again and Hannibal deflected him, throwing him sideways. Again and again Face went for him, and again Hannibal countered every move, and there was a desperate quality as Face grew more and more exhausted.

Finally Hannibal finished it for him. He pinned Face to the ground, face-down, wrenching Face's arm up behind his back. He felt Face struggling to get free, muscles straining.

“Enough,” Hannibal said firmly into his ear, “enough,” and finally Face ceased his struggling. He kicked out a couple of times, a token protest, but then he lay still, panting. But Hannibal didn't let up. “You have to trust me,” he said. “It won't always be like this. One day I'll get us our pardons, but you have to trust me.”

“Do I have a choice?” 

“You've always had a choice.”

Face didn't reply to that. 

After a moment, Hannibal said, “I'm going to let you up now, and I _don't_ want a repeat performance.” He released his grip on Face's arm and eased off him. Slowly, stiffly, Face drew his arms in front of him, got to his knees. He refused Hannibal's offer of assistance and staggered to his feet.

Hannibal was expecting him to make one last remark, to get a final word in, but instead Face just stood there, hunched over slightly and blinking like he couldn't focus properly, and Hannibal realised what was happening just as Murdock said, "Uh, Colonel, he's not looking so good - " and Hannibal caught him as he pitched forward into his arms. 

“Guys,” he said, but they were already at his side, sharing the weight, holding him up, “help me get him into the van.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Hannibal**

It was BA who ended up taking most of Face's weight, Face propped up between them with Murdock keeping pace. "You okay Hannibal?” Murdock said.

“I'm fine,” he shot back, and caught Murdock's flinch. He softened his tone. “It wasn't exactly a fair fight."

“Poor Faceman, we'll have to get him lifting weights when he's better,” Murdock said, but his eyes were wide and serious.

They got Face into the van, and Hannibal was about to climb into the back with him, where the long seat was, when a hand on his arm stopped him. “I'll take him, Hannibal,” said BA.

"That's not necessary Sergeant, you've had the least rest out of any of us. Murdock can drive; get some sleep."

But BA continued to grip his arm, and now he increased the pressure ever so slightly. "You need to be the one resting so you can be seeing to him later.”

So he sat where Face normally sat, and Murdock drove, and BA stayed in the back with Face. But he couldn't rest; partly because of the lingering adrenaline rush that came from wrestling a man a lot younger and angrier than he was, and partly because Face's words were beginning to surface now, raw and disturbing, and he had to make a conscious effort to turn his mind away from them.

He leant forwards, feeling underneath the seat for the bottles of soda they kept stowed there.

“Here,” he said, handing one back to BA, “if he wakes up, get him to drink some of this. We need to raise his blood sugar.”

“I'll take care of it,” BA said. “Get some rest.”

And so he folded empty arms around himself and closed his eyes.

**BA**

He could have laid Face down on the back seat, got some shut-eye himself. Didn't have to be holding him the whole time.

Except, he did. Cause he'd seen it before, guys on the street out of their minds on drugs, not knowing what was real and what wasn't. Had seen a guy light himself on fire once. And maybe Face was coming down from all that, but that didn't mean he didn't need no anchor still. So that was why he was holding him, Face propped up against his chest, and he could feel Face's heartbeat through his T-shirt.

He'd held them like this in the camps too, Face and the fool, and maybe some of that had left behind a sense memory. Him and Murdock had talked about it once on one of those long drives while the other two were sleeping.

_"You see BA," Murdock said, gesturing expressively, "certain smells have certain connotations, certain memories attached to them. For instance, every time I smell gunpowder I think of the Fourth of July."_

_"Cause of the fireworks."_

_Murdock looked delighted. "Yeah, cause of the fireworks - you're catching on, big guy!"_

_"I'm catching on cause it's science. I ain't gonna argue with science."_

_"Okay then," Murdock said, sitting up and taking his feet down from the dashboard, "so if human beings can remember smells, we should be able to remember touch too. See, my grandmammy used to kiss me on my cheek, right here," he pointed, "every night before I'd go to sleep. And then in college I dated this girl - oh BA, you should've seen her - hair down to her waist, pretty enough to make the Faceman weep, and real smart, too - but I had to break up with her see, cause she kept kissing me on the cheek when I wasn't looking, the exact same spot, and every time she kissed me it was like I was being kissed by my grandmammy."_

_"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard. You're touched all right - touched in the head."_

But after Murdock had fallen asleep, finally leaving BA alone with the peace of the open road, he'd thought about what Murdock had said. Thought about the camps. How he'd held them, and how after a while it was like they remembered, and they'd be still.

He felt Face stiffen then, raising his head, not quite awake, and BA managed to get some of the soda down him before he fell back asleep again. But his sleep was fitful, like he was having bad dreams, and from time to time he thrashed, trying to break BA's hold on him, making noises that had no words, and BA just held him close. 

The back of the van was growing warm with the day. Face was hot in his arms, and there was a bad heat coming off him, like something gone sour. They were both sweating.

He was cramped, too. Didn't have the fool's flexibility for folding himself into small spaces, or Hannibal's patience when he wore those claustrophobic monster suits, or Face's slight build that meant he always got put in the middle of them when room was in short supply. 

And he was tired, oh, how he was tired. And the demon hunger gnawed at him in spite of the breakfast they'd just had.

But the army had trained them to endure worse, and that was when they had no reason to fight except duty and orders. This, he would willingly endure -  for Face, for any of them.

The road was growing rougher, stressing the van's suspension. They were jolted suddenly and Face came fully awake, blinking, tensing at first but then settling back, letting himself be held, and after a moment like this, in full awareness of each other, BA heard him whisper, “I've blown it BA,” and the despair in his voice made BA's fists clench and he gripped Face even tighter - 

“No man, you ain't,” and Face said, “I have, I have,” like he was weeping, and BA kept telling him, “You ain't, you ain't,” rolling with the motion of the van so he was rocking him, and it was on that strip of road that Face finally fell asleep for good and didn't stir again until they reached Hannibal's house.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Face**

He woke like he was falling, tried to bolt upright but there were arms round him and he gasped, started struggling.

“Hey man, it's me,” a voice said, deep and gruff and familiar, "take it easy."

“BA?” he said, and now he knew where he was; the van, with Hannibal pulling the door open to let some light in. BA released him and he sat forward, resting his head on his knees, taking deep breaths.

After a moment he sat up again slowly. They were at Hannibal's place, he realised. BA produced a soda from somewhere and thrust it into his hands. He sipped at it, willing himself to relax. BA stayed by his side and at first he was grateful for the other man's company until he realised BA was staring at him.

"What?"

"You should've called."

Anger shot through him. His face flushed hot and he crumpled the plastic bottle -

BA punched him in the arm, scattering his thoughts. "Don't be taking it like that, man. All I'm saying is, you didn't need to put yourself through that."

"Why, 'cause you guys didn't think I could do it?" he spat, rubbing his arm, "you didn't think I was capable of pulling it off by myself? Like I can't do anything without the rest of you to back me up?"

"No, fool," BA said, and it almost seemed like he was mad at Face for making him say it, "it's 'cause we love you, that's why."

He blinked at the unexpected words, didn't know how to receive them, but it didn't matter anyway because BA had quit watching him, was shaking his head and muttering something about how there was more than one crazy fool on the team.

He cleared his throat. “What time is it?”

“What am I, the Time of Day service?” BA said, and Face rolled his eyes, amused despite himself.

“It's four in the afternoon,” Hannibal said from outside, and Face's smile fell away. Maybe BA would let him crash at his place tonight. Or perhaps he could get Murdock to smuggle him into his room at the VA. Heck, just sleeping over in the van would be preferable to staying with Hannibal - it was practically their home anyway, the amount of time they spent in the damn thing.

As if sensing his reluctance, BA gave him a light shove. “Go on, man.”

He made his way out the van, watching Hannibal warily. Hannibal was stood on the sidewalk with Murdock, duffel bag hefted over one shoulder, smoking a cigar. He was acting like Face was going with him. Like it was inevitable.

 _“Don't leave me alone with him,”_ he wanted to plead with Murdock, but Murdock wouldn't meet his eyes. BA was blocking the van door, arms folded, ready to back Hannibal up if necessary.

He didn't know how to play this. Should he act contrite? Pretend everything was normal? Take off? It was getting kind of hard to breathe.

Hannibal made the decision for him. “Okay guys, this is what's going to happen. Murdock and BA, you'll mail the tapes to Amy. Make copies first. Then I want you to lay low." He pointed his cigar at Face. "You're staying with me, and you're going to eat, and you're going to rest.”

It was strange because he really, _really_ didn't want to stay with Hannibal, and yet there was a part of him that didn't want to be anywhere else. 

“And then what?” he said, trying for casual, though his heart was yammering.

Hannibal exhaled cigar smoke, considering him. “That's up to you.”

He couldn't help it, he looked at the others again, and this time Murdock gave a small, apologetic shrug.

“Call me after you've mailed those tapes,” Hannibal said to them in parting.

Face was left with BA and Murdock on the sidewalk. He wanted to ask them to stay but he knew they'd go anyway, because Hannibal had told them to.

"Take care of yourself Face," BA said.

“Bye, Faceman,” Murdock said, ducking his head and Face got the impression he wanted to say more but was biting down on the words.

He watched them get into the van. BA started the engine and then Murdock looked at him through the window. Face gave a tentative wave, and in reply Murdock interlaced his fingers like it meant something, even if Face wasn't quite sure what, and then Hannibal was calling his name and so he turned away from them and made his way slowly up the path towards the house.  
 


	10. Chapter 10

**Face**

“I'm telling you Hannibal, this is a real small place you got here,” Face said as he entered the living room. “You couldn’t manage anything bigger?”

“I like it,” Hannibal said brightly, setting the duffel bag down on some boxes. “Have a seat.”

But he forced himself to remain standing, followed Hannibal into the kitchen, leant on the door frame. “And I can't believe you haven't unpacked yet. You've been here three months already.”

Hannibal didn't answer, was opening cupboards and so Face wandered back into the living room. He sank down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table, kicking the mail aside as he did so. A leaflet fell to the floor, junk mail, and he reached down for it. Started rolling it up. Unrolled it again. He could hear Hannibal moving around in the kitchen, the sound of pans clattering. 

“You shouldn't have made Murdock go back to the VA, you know,” he called.

Hannibal appeared at the kitchen door a moment later, holding a tin opener. “What was that?”

“Murdock. He doesn't like going back there straight after a case.”

“He's not. I told him to stay with BA.”

 _Oh._ Out the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal watching him before disappearing back into the kitchen.

His headache was starting to spike again, a tight pressure building. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took his feet down from the table, hunching forward. He didn't notice that Hannibal had come back until he set a bowl and glass down in front of him. He started at the sound.

“It's meatloaf,” Hannibal said, settling down on the other end of the couch, “I haven't been to the store yet so it's out of a can I'm afraid.”

He pushed it away deliberately. “No offence, but I wouldn't feed that to a dog.”

“There's a couple of Advil there too,” Hannibal said, going on like he hadn't heard him, “they work better if you take them with food.”

Hannibal seemed preoccupied with opening his mail, and after staring resignedly at the painkillers Face tossed them back with the water, and then he picked up the bowl of meatloaf. He attempted the first mouthful, forcing himself to chew it and swallow even though it tasted like damp sawdust.

“Ah, nice,” Hannibal said, smiling in satisfaction, and at Face's look he showed him a bundle of papers. “The script for my new Aquamaniac movie. I've been waiting on this for weeks.”

He rolled his eyes. He managed a few more mouthfuls before putting the bowl down. Then he sat back, folding his arms.

“So now what?”

“You could take a shower,” Hannibal said, still flicking through the script. “From what I saw, those slimeballs didn't exactly place a high priority on personal hygiene.”

No, they hadn't. The place had been filthy. But he hadn't minded after the first night.

“The water's hot,” Hannibal added.

He looked down at himself. Even though he'd changed his clothes back at the truck stop, he could smell himself, see what he’d done. He hated that feeling. Back in Vietnam he’d always found a way to wash no matter where they holed up even though it would've been so easy not to bother. Murdock would joke that he was like a cat, always preening himself.

But the thought of climbing up those stairs, standing there under the water, making himself clean again, seemed like so much effort that he suddenly wanted to cry.

He realised Hannibal was watching him again. “Need some help?”

“I'm a big boy, Hannibal,” he said, injecting as much sarcasm into his voice as he could muster, "I think I can manage to take a shower by myself.”

Hannibal set down the script with a smack, making him jump. “Stop that."

"Stop what?" he said defensively.

"You know what." Hannibal glared at him. "Let's get one thing straight right now. There's nothing you can say or do that'll make me throw you off the team, so it'll make my life a whole lot easier if you stop trying.”

He wanted to do a line so badly that he had to clench his hands into fists. But Hannibal just pointed at the stairs. “Go and take a shower,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a child.

* * *

The stairs, the bathroom, the shower, and Hannibal's words ringing in his ears. He didn't have the strength to stand and so he sat down, hot water cascading over him. After a while he reached above him to grab the bottle of shower gel.

After that, he just let the water run over him. He nearly dozed off, leaning against the wall as he was, but the water started to turn cold and so reluctantly he pulled himself up, shut off the taps. The room was full of steam, and he snagged the nearest towel. Stumbled out into the bedroom.

His sweat-stained clothes were gone. Hannibal had laid out a complete change of clothes for him whilst he'd been showering. 

He sat on the bed and dressed himself slowly, every action a mammoth effort. He was moving like an old man. He made himself hang the towel back up.  Heard Hannibal on the phone to someone. Made his way slowly down the stairs, gripping the bannister for support.

“That was BA,” Hannibal said, putting the receiver down. “They've mailed the tapes.” He gestured to the table. “I made us some coffee.”

He slumped down again in the same spot. Picked up the mug of coffee. Hannibal sat next to him. The TV was on, some news channel, and he stared at the screen without watching it.

The next thing he knew it was dark outside. There was a blanket draped over him, the TV was on mute and his mug of unfinished coffee was on the table. He looked about him. “Hannibal?” he said, before he could stop himself.

There was no reply. He shrugged off the blanket quickly and got to his feet.

There was a light on in the kitchen and he went in, trying to act nonchalant. Hannibal was at the kitchen table listening to a cassette player, a notepad in front of him. A brown paper bag stood on the counter.

Upon seeing him approach, Hannibal stopped the tape. He removed his headphones and looked at him enquiringly. “What's up, kid?”

The casual use of that term of endearment, the one he simultaneously loved and was infuriated by, made him pause. “I need a glass of water,” he lied.

“Help yourself, you know where everything is.” Hannibal put the headphones back on. “The guys dropped round with some groceries,” he said, speaking loudly. “I’ll scramble us up a couple of eggs in a minute.”

”I can do it.” Then he registered what Hannibal was doing. “Wait, what are you listening to?”

“Your tapes,” Hannibal replied.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Face**

He lunged for the cassette player and snatched the tape out. Hannibal made no effort to stop him, just sat there, regarding him with a stoicism that only stoked Face's anger even more.

“You've got no right to listen to it!” He crushed the tape in trembling hands.

“Face - ”

“How much did you hear?” 

Hannibal remained silent, and Face tossed the broken tape onto the table. “You know what, forget it. I’m done with this.” He stumbled out towards the door, hardly seeing what was in front of him. When he got to the door, he stopped.

How easy it would be to make this all go away. He knew a guy who knew a guy -

But after that, then what?

He blinked back tears of frustration, the urge to leave so strong it was like a sickness. It took all the restraint he had not to try the door handle. Instead he put his palms against the door and leant forward, resting his hot forehead against it. Took deep breaths, his throat aching.

He was aware of Hannibal standing behind him.

“How much did you hear?” he said again through gritted teeth.

“Enough.”

He wanted to stay facing the door but he made himself turn round, look Hannibal in the eye. “You shouldn't have listened to it.”

Hannibal sighed in faint exasperation, and the familiarity of it tugged at him. “Face, what kind of a CO would I be if I didn't? Think about it. The Feds are going to be poring over those tapes when Amy's done with them, and I'm not having you lumped in the same pot as those meatheads.”

He couldn’t disagree with the logic, even though this insistent, almost suffocating concern of Hannibal towards him was so intense that he wanted to crawl away and hide. 

He waited as Hannibal felt about for a cigar and lit up in front of him.  

“I'd like to listen to the rest of the tapes together,” Hannibal continued, waving the match to extinguish its flame.

Fear spiked again. “Together?” he blurted out.

“That’s the idea. You can talk me through what's happening. At the very least, you can identify the speakers.”

He looked away. “You may not like what you hear.”

“I'm a big boy. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Face winced at his own words parroted back at him. That wasn't what he had meant. He knew Hannibal was setting him up. In listening to the tapes it would only give Hannibal even more of an excuse to chew him out and berate him for having failed so spectacularly, even though it was Hannibal's fault for putting him in that position in the first place.

He couldn't hide his distress, and Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder. “Face -”

He shrugged it off. Gave a brief, humourless laugh.

“What’s the joke?” Hannibal said, frowning.

“Oh, just something Murdock said once.” He gestured to the movie script on the coffee table. “He said there’s a reason you go for the monster roles.”

He caught the flash of hurt in Hannibal's eyes and he felt a brief stab of conscience for his lie, before Hannibal’s gaze hardened. “We'll start going over the tapes tomorrow.” He headed back into the kitchen.

“What about the one I broke?” Face called after him.

”It was a dud. I figured you'd react like that, so I switched it for a blank.”

He stared after Hannibal, weary resignation draining what energy he had left, and he sagged against the door. His eyes started to burn again, and this time he couldn't stop it. 

He stayed like that until Hannibal called, “chow’s up, Lieutenant,” the smell of eggs and toast wafting through into the living room, and he pushed himself up and made his way into the kitchen.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Hannibal**

The small hours of the night. The house was cold and dark, and he knew what had woken him before he was even fully conscious. He tossed the blanket aside and got up off the couch. 

He pushed the bedroom door open and stood there in the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust, listening. Rather than turning on the light he padded softly over to the window and drew back the curtain. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the bed and he got a sharp shock when it was empty. And then he saw him, crouched on the floor, backed up against the bed. 

He knelt down. Face was holding himself completely still, barely breathing.

"Face?"

On impulse he reached out and felt Face's forehead. At his touch Face looked at him, pale eyes glittering strangely in the light. 

"What you doing on the floor, kid?" 

Face didn't say anything, just kept staring at him. 

"Come on, back to bed."

At his gentle urging, Face allowed himself to be guided up into the bed, to have the covers drawn over him, all the while watching him. 

When one of his guys was down, Hannibal would think nothing about pulling up a chair and waiting for them to settle. But he was aware of how Face felt about him these days. If he stayed, he'd be staying for himself, not for Face.  

So he said, "Go to sleep, Lieutenant," letting a little of his command voice seep through. 

And then he waited outside, and it was only when he heard the deep, even breaths that he went back downstairs. 

**Face**

He woke to sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains, and he lay there, blinking up at the ceiling. 

He felt uneasy. He wished Murdock was here. Murdock, who accepted him for who he was, all the while treating him like he was some kind of personal hero. 

Eventually he rose, freeing himself from the tangle of sheets, floorboards creaking as he put his feet down.

But the sense of foreboding stayed with him, like he was waiting for a hammer to fall, and what Hannibal would think of him when it did.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hannibal**

He was fixing breakfast when Face came shuffling into the kitchen, hugging a blanket round him and squinting in the bright light that reflected off the kitchen surfaces. He went straight for the coffee, and Hannibal saw how the dark liquid slopped out over the counter as he poured.

“Sleep well?” Hannibal asked.

“Slept fine,” Face replied in a gravelly voice. Without meeting Hannibal's eyes he shuffled off towards the living room. After a moment Hannibal heard the television start up.

He finished making the breakfast and carried the plates through.

“I was thinking about BA's bike,” Face said, before Hannibal could speak.

“What about BA’s bike?” he said, setting the plates down.

“The van's too distinctive, we should use a rental when we go pick it up.”

He raised his eyebrows. “ _We_?” 

“Yeah, ‘we’. What's wrong with that?” 

“Come on, Face,” he chided, “you know you're still too hot up there. Those goons’ll be on you in a heartbeat.”

Face looked away, and Hannibal sighed inwardly.  _There’s a reason you go for the monster roles._ “I'm sure a man with as many talents as you won't have much trouble phoning the repair shop and convincing them to hand over the bike to BA and Murdock.”

Face remained quiet. Then he said, “Can I ring the guys?” His jaw was set, as if daring Hannibal to refuse him, but there was a catch in his voice that betrayed him. 

“Go ahead. The number's by the phone.”

Face shrugged off his cocoon of blankets, and Hannibal turned the television down, muting the pretty weather girl. “Hey pal,” he heard Face say softly as he left to give him some privacy.

* * *

When he came back he found Face perched on the arm of the couch, staring at nothing. 

“The guys okay?” 

Face dredged up a smile. “You know BA. Mr. Monosyllabic.” His smile grew more real. “Murdock was telling me about this terrible nightmare he’d had. Said he dreamed he fell asleep.”

Hannibal's lips twitched in amusement. “Sounds about right.”

“Yeah. Leave it to Murdock to have a nightmare about existentialism.” But then Face’s expression turned grave again. “He kept talking about some guy named Rashomon, how people see the same thing in different ways or something. He was getting real excited about it until BA made him hang up.” He sighed, and ran a hand over his cropped hair in a gesture Hannibal had never seen before. “I guess this last week must’ve been kind of hard on him. I should’ve realised, the way he was acting at the diner.”

“He'll be okay,” Hannibal said, making a mental note to check in on Murdock later. “He's with BA.”

“Yeah,” Face said, and just like that the tone shifted, darkened, “good old dependable BA,” and the moment morphed into something hard, with edges. “I need some more coffee.” 

“Go easy on the caffeine,” Hannibal called after him, as if it were an afterthought. No point in Face figuring out he was drinking decaf.

* * *

When Face didn't return, Hannibal followed him into the kitchen. Face was leaning against the counter, mug in hand, head bowed.

He stood in the doorway, regarding him. “I was thinking we’d go for a run later.”

Face looked up so fast the coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug. “A run? You said I was supposed to be resting.”

“Well, see,” Hannibal said, “I was thinking about the way you came at me yesterday,” he smiled sweetly, “you know, when you accused me of not trying hard enough to get our pardons,” - he didn't miss the way Face flushed - “and I thought to myself, ‘boy, is this kid out of shape.’ So yes, Lieutenant, I think a run is in order.”

“Fine,” Face said, slamming the mug down, “if that's how you feel about it, let's go right now.”

Hannibal shook his head. “Breakfast first, then we’ll give those tapes a listen. Then we run.”


	14. Chapter 14

**BA**

Since Face’s phone call that morning, Murdock had gone into a slump, refusing to budge from the couch, staring at the same TV channel.

“Why you so interested in the weather anyway?” BA said as he came inside to get a drink.

From the nest of cushions, a hand emerged to wave half-heartedly at the screen. “Julie.”

BA squinted at the weather girl. “Doesn't look like your type.”

“She isn't, she's Faceman's. He's sweet on her.”

BA sighed. He'd been looking forward to spending the day alone with his van, repairing the damage the long drive had caused, but it was clear that Murdock wasn’t doing so well. Reluctantly he said, “I could use your help out there.”

Murdock sat up straight, knocking cushions onto the floor. “Me? Little old me? I'm honoured BA, really - ”

“Shut up fool. It's only holding a flashlight.”

**Murdock**

He lay on the ground, the van's underbelly inches from his face, the smell of exhaust fumes and oil filling his nostrils. It was comforting. Reminded him of pre-flight checks.

Next to him, BA muttered something.

“You’ll have to speak up, big guy,” Murdock said, “I can't hear you over the rain.”

“It's not raining.”

“Not yet it isn't. Julie said there's a storm on the way and it must be affecting me precognitively or something ‘cause I can already hear it.”

“The ‘something’ being that you’re crazy. Point the flashlight higher up.”

He assumed an English accent. “I am but mad north-north-west,” he said, adjusting the light. “When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.”

“I don’t have a handsaw.”

“Oh BA, a handsaw ain’t a kind of tool -” but BA said, “I mean it, Murdock!” so loud that it reverberated off the metal above them.

Murdock fell quiet, and a few minutes passed. Surprisingly it was BA who broke the silence first.

“Hannibal said I was to take you back to the VA after we get my cousin’s bike, so you best get thinking up a story.”

The VA. Despite what Face had said in the van yesterday, it was Murdock’s choice to live there, not Hannibal’s. Because if the MPs caught up with the team it would be down to Murdock to get them out. He needed to stay in the VA - he only had to look to Borneo for proof of that; Face, wincing in front of the firing squad, bracing himself for the bullets, and Hannibal, who couldn’t bear to watch. 

“Murdock?” BA said, and he started. 

“Sorry. Just thinking about Borneo.”

“Oh man. Borneo.” BA shook his head as he went back to work with the wrench. “That was close.”

“Even Hannibal couldn't talk his way out of that one.”

“Yeah, well,” BA said, grunting with the effort of tightening the ring bolts, “he's only human.”

“Exactly.” And he added, “I think that’s the problem.”

The flashlight caught BA's frown. “What problem?”

Murdock swallowed. He knew how BA disliked this kind of talk. “Like you said, Hannibal's only human, and I guess that's why Face felt he had to do what he did - ”

“The Faceman was relying on himself," BA said, interrupting him, "and that's when things go bad. Maybe Hannibal's plans don't always work out, but we always make it 'cause we're a team. Face forgot that. That's why Hannibal's mad at him." 

"You mean, that's why _you're_ mad at him,” Murdock corrected.

"I'm mad 'cause I got you jibber-jabbering in my ear." 

In any case, there was no further talk after that because rain had started to fall, and the sound of it drowned out all the words.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hannibal**

_“When there's duty involved, there's always a choice. You can choose to do your duty, or you can choose not to._

_Love is something entirely different. With love, you think you have a choice, but you don't. Because when you love someone, you always choose them.”_

Those words, spoken by Ray Brenner against the backdrop of a war gone sour, kept rolling around in Hannibal’s mind as he sat across from Face at the kitchen table. That night in the DOOM club, Ray had been within a hair’s breadth from deserting. But in the end he’d stayed, because he couldn’t leave his unit behind.

Ray was right. There had never been a choice in the first place.

A new name on the tape, and Hannibal’s ears pricked up. “Who's Earl?” 

Face blinked. “Who?” 

He reached over and hit the pause button again. 

“Earl. They’re talking about setting up a meet with him.”

“Earl... ” Face fumbled. “I think he worked the supply chain further down the coast.”

“Okay,” Hannibal said, jotting it down. “Did he make contact whilst you were there?”

”Make contact?”

“Can he ID you?” he rephrased, trying not to let his frustration show. Face was so much sharper than this usually, streaks ahead. It was what had caught his attention all those years ago, a flash of brilliance in the usual humdrum intake of officers. He’d always been used to explaining himself, his plan, his logic - and suddenly here was this kid who understood right off the bat what Hannibal was about, even going so far as to anticipate Hannibal’s train of thought. It had come as a surprise at first, and then, after a while, a kind of relief. 

“No, he can’t,” Face said at last.

“Okay. Let's take a break,” he said, carefully marking off the time of the recording against his notes.   

**Face**

As they laced up their sneakers in silence, he could sense the disapproval emanating from Hannibal. All morning Hannibal had been relentless in mining for details, but the absence of any comments or opinions spoke for itself.

He gritted his teeth. He _hated_ being so needy around him. He hated that he craved Hannibal’s approval, and he hated that Hannibal knew that, and the power it gave Hannibal over him -

“How does it feel?” Hannibal said, and he froze.

Hannibal’s gaze flicked down to the sneakers.

“Oh, fine, they fit fine,” he said, ducking his head to hide his blush.

“You sure? I do have bigger feet than you. I could loan you some thicker socks -“

He stood up. “I’m ready when you are,” he said, firing off a smile.

* * *

It helped actually, being mad at Hannibal. The longing to crawl back into bed and sleep had been replaced by something stronger, and for the first few minutes he was able to maintain a pretty decent pace.

The sky was dark with clouds as they ran. Gradually he began to feel like he was in someone else’s body, like he wasn’t connected to his feet. And his stomach was getting real queasy. He tried not to hunch over.

A misstep, his ankle jolting and Hannibal was there to steady him.

”I’m okay,” he said, pulling away, and the shame sharpened him for a time but then his vision was tunnelling, whiting out at the edges and he could no longer see the sidewalk properly. He stumbled again.

”I think that’s far enough for today,” he heard Hannibal say as he was steered down towards the kerbside. 

A lone dog walker ambled past, the mutt stopping to sniff at them before the owner dragged it away. He was going to throw up.

“Probably best if you keep your head down.”

The sound of a match lighting, the familiar, earthy smell of a cigar. Rain began to fall on them, softly at first, like a crop dusting.

And then Hannibal surprised him by saying, ”We got further today than I thought.” He felt a glow of pride despite himself, which dissipated when Hannibal added cheerily, “We’ll get even further tomorrow.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Hannibal**

They’d rested long enough, and the rain wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. He stubbed out his cigar. “Let’s head back.” He stood up, offering Face his hand. He still didn’t like Face’s colour, and after pulling him up, he kept an arm round him. 

 _My friend overdid it is all_ , he’d say to any onlookers out in this weather. Just two guys coming back from a run. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sense in making it easy for a passerby to identify them to the MPs.

The wind was starting to pick up, and their journey home was slow, but he was satisfied. Face had obviously pushed himself, and his exertions would go a long way in keeping a lid on the withdrawal cravings he’d be experiencing later. A pattern of using - even if it had only been a week - was tough to break, and the absence would be felt most keenly towards the latter part of the day, when the nocturnal habits of the gang kicked in. He’d seen it yesterday evening, the way Face had worried at his hands until Hannibal had pressed a cigar into them, how he couldn’t settle, aimlessly roaming, restless even though he was so obviously exhausted. 

BA would have been good for Face last night, his solid presence bringing with it a kind of peace. It was the same in the camps. Troubled soldiers had gravitated towards BA, because when BA was calm, he was immutable. He would have been a good man to have around on the ranch too, working with skittish foals, though Hannibal would never say that to his face. Besides, it seemed like BA was doing the same kind of thing now anyway in his work with the kids at the youth centre. 

He glanced at Face. His colour was still a little off, but he looked a lot better than he’d done on that kerbside. His jaw was set, seemingly concentrating on putting one foot in front of another, and Hannibal’s heart went out to him. For all Face’s complaining, when the chips were down he gave it everything he had.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal said into the space between them.

Face’s head snapped up so fast it was almost comical. “What?”

“I should have realised Wyatt was into drugs when he first came to us.”

He’d been furious at Wyatt when they’d returned with Suzi. He’d made even BA nervous. In fact, Suzi’s presence had been the only thing stopping him from going further.

Face pulled out from underneath his arm, stood there considering him. “We were all there when you met him,” he said at last. “None of us realised.”

“ _I_ should have. I thought I knew what we were dealing with.”

“And you hate surprises,” Face said wryly.

“Exactly.” A car passed and he tugged on Face’s elbow. “Keep walking.”

“It turned out okay though,” Face said after a moment, although there was a question behind the words, like he needed to hear Hannibal’s confirmation. But Hannibal wasn’t ready to condone his actions just yet.

“What scares me is that you didn’t realise how much danger you were in.”

Face’s expression twisted. “We’ve put ourselves in dangerous situations before.”

“But we were still in control. When you’re on that junk, all bets are off.”

“Hannibal - “

“No, enlighten me, Face. How did you know the stuff they gave you was pure? You could’ve OD’d without realising it.” 

“I -“

“Or what if they’d moved on to needles? You’ve heard the buzz going round about this AIDS thing.” He couldn’t help himself, he was too riled by Face’s flippancy. “How about if the guys decided to get fresh with you and you were too out of it to stop them?” He saw Face blush and knew he was thinking of Fort Bragg. 

“You’re making me sound like I’m some greenhorn recruit. I knew what I was doing. I’m Special Forces, remember?”

“I’m aware of that,” Hannibal said tightly. He didn’t want to say something he’d regret. 

They walked back the rest of the way in silence. He wondered if Face really understood the nature of his concern, or if the younger man was just being deliberately obtuse. He supposed this was the kind of conversation all parents had with their kids at one time or another, but Face, growing up in an orphanage, didn’t have any framework for it. The rebukes handed out by those nuns would be coming from a place where order had to be maintained and not because they truly cared about him. It was the same in the army. Face had been out of control, in a less overt way than BA, granted, but freewheeling his way towards a discharge all the same until Hannibal had stepped in and harnessed that energy.

In the distance, lightning flashed, and the roll of thunder followed.

They arrived back at the house, and he unlocked the front door. “You can go ahead and use the shower first.”

The stairs creaked as Face disappeared upstairs.

Hannibal watched him go, and then he proceeded to turn on the lamps, although some of the storm darkness still lingered. The rain beat down hard against the windowpanes. Above him, he heard the shower start to run.


End file.
